


Dance of the Damned

by cleopatras



Series: Sins of the Flesh [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Blood and Injury, Duelling, Enemies to Lovers, George is in love with Dream, How is that not a tag, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rough Kissing, he duels him, intimate wound dressing, so naturally
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 23:41:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29498250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleopatras/pseuds/cleopatras
Summary: “You look at me?”“Often,” George admitted.—George challenges Dream to a duel. However, Dream is a man of honor and George is a lousy shot.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Series: Sins of the Flesh [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175735
Comments: 23
Kudos: 331





	Dance of the Damned

**Author's Note:**

> CW for mentions of blood and violence!

“Dueling is still outlawed you know,” Niki chastised as she watched her close friend prepare for the aforementioned event, fluffing his hair and putting on his vest. The woman was unmarried, but no one seemed to mind her being left alone with Clay, or as she knew him, Dream. They had grown up together, after all, and Dream was not interested in partaking in this year’s marriage season, so the two of them got away with more than two unmarried young friends normally could. It also helped that Dream’s family had rather obscene amounts of wealth, meaning they could likely buy off anyone looking to tarnish their well-maintained reputation. 

“If George is so sure I have defiled his sister’s innocence, then I must stand for my word and hold my head high.”

Niki rolled her eyes, twisting the ends of her hair nervously, “And your pistol too, I hope. You didn’t… did you? Do anything with George’s sister? I mean, he hated you enough already, but to go as far as to tarnish his sister…”

“I didn’t and I never would,” Dream cut her off before she could ask anything worse of him, “The only unmarried woman’s reputation I wish to tarnish is yours, my dear. You should go, you don’t want your mother finding you out of bed.”

“I want to come with you,” Niki stood up from her chair, dress falling around her ankles and her face determined. 

Dream sighed, looking away from his reflection to place his hands on her shoulders, telling her, “Not happening, dearest. A duel is no place for a lady. If George actually has the gall to shoot me, a doctor will be there to tend to my wounds.”

“Who’s your second?”

“Sap, of course,” Dream scoffed, referring to one of their other close friends, Lord Nicholas. 

“You can’t bring him, he wouldn’t know a peace talk if it bit him in the ass!” she exclaimed, not bothering to mind her language at this hour, “It’s a death sentence, Dream.”

The man scoffed, returning his attention to buttoning his vest. “George, even if he does manage to pull the trigger, is a horrible shot. I doubt he would even hit me and even if he could, it’ll hardly be anywhere enough to kill me. Now, you need to go, the sun will be up in an hour.”

She looked like she was about to argue, but instead, Niki sighed, running a hand through her loose hair. “Fine, but if you die, I am going to be unbelievably angry with you.”

“I will see you at the ball tonight, my dear,” Dream reassured her, holding her face with his hands gently before pressing a kiss to her forehead. To any outsider, their relationship would probably look like one of those in love, but to imagine her as anything other than a sister was horrible to Dream. 

“One last thing,” Niki stopped in the doorway, one hand braced on the edge as she looked at him over her shoulder, “Why not just marry the damn girl?”

“It would be a betrayal to my character, you know this,” he swallowed, avoiding her eyes. The woman did not say another word before disappearing through the doorway. He waited until her footsteps disappeared before grabbing his dueling pistol, placing it in his hilt, and shoving on his riding boots. Quietly, he toed through the estate, careful not to wake his mother or sisters before heading out the servants’ entrance where his horse was waiting. 

He rode until he reached where his good friend, Sapnap, was waiting for him on horseback, curious eyes searching Dream’s expression for any notion that this was a joke. Dream gave away nothing. 

“We’re really doing this?”

“We’re doing this.”

They ride until the sun is peeking over the hills, riding until they reach their meeting place. George is waiting there with Lord Wilbur and the doctor, a heavy look on all of their faces that he is sure he wears as well. Dream dismounts his horse, meeting George’s eyes. 

“Good morning,” he mused, a half-smile on his face that he knows is tempting fate. Beside him, he heard Sapnap scoff, but he doesn’t break.

“Did you leave a note for your next of kin, Clay?” George taunted, but all he could do was laugh.

“The fact that you think you could kill me is… laughable, at best,” Dream tried to contain the smile on his face, but ultimately failed, “I have to admire your confidence, though. Sapnap, Wilbur, if you please.”

The group dispersed, Sapnap and Wilbur meeting in the middle in an attempt to meet a peace. Sapnap groaned, trying to be quiet but still loud enough for Dream to hear, “Are we really going to let them go through with this?”

Wilbur scoffed, “Maybe if we let them shoot at each other it will be enough for them to shut the fuck up about how much they hate each other.”

“Good point,” the younger shrugged before turning to Dream and saying, “No peace has been met, the duel will commence.”

“You little shit,” Dream smiled softly, loading his pistol. He’d been shot before, had the scars to prove it, after all, he’s stirred up quite an amount of trouble in his twenty-one years on this earth and a lot of people seem determined to make him pay for it. However, a bullet has never deterred him.

“You need an outlet for your rage,” was all Sapnap said and Dream just pushed him out of the way. “All right. Doctor, if you will.” The man turned around. “Ten paces. You know the drill.” 

Five paces away, George yelled, “Confess your sins, Clay.”

“Ah, I took the Lord’s name in vain quite a few times, drank a lot of wine,” Dream called back, “I’m afraid that’s all I can recall at the moment. Anything else you had in mind?” 

“Ten!” Sapnap counted and Dream whipped around, the pistol already pointed towards the sky, but George clearly had a different plan in mind as his barrel was aiming directly for Dream. 

_There’s no way,_ Dream thinks to himself, but apparently, he was wrong. Time seemed to slow down as he watched George’s finger squeeze the trigger, sending a bullet straight for him. However, George was a lousy shot the last Dream checked and it seemed that still rang true. It passed him, disappearing somewhere into the foggy air beside him. 

“You _missed!”_ Dream shouted with glee before feeling a sharp pain in his side. He did _not_ miss, but it wasn’t enough to kill him, hopefully, which meant he was going to keep it incredibly quiet. He continued his laughter up until the two men met in the middle once more, the taller one held out his hand. 

Reluctantly, George shook it, regretfully saying, “So, I suppose this matter is settled.”

“I didn’t fuck her,” are Dream’s last words as he forcefully let go of George’s hand, biting back the pain of the bullet that must have grazed his ribs. With that, he mounted his horse and took off back towards his estate, not waiting for Sapnap to follow him. 

When he returned to his estate, he was unsurprised to have found Niki already waiting in his room with a scowl on her face. He scoffed, “You know, you have to stop showing up in my bedroom if you ever plan on marrying, Niki.”

“Don’t call me that, are you hurt?” the woman got straight to the point, ushering Dream to a chair where she relieved him of his jacket. 

“I’m fine, Niki, really,” he reassured her, placing a hand over where her smaller fingers fiercely gripped his shoulder. “Go, you shouldn’t be here.”

She sighed, leaning her chin on top of his head as they both stared at their reflections in the mirror, “I needed to make sure you were okay.”

“Which I am, now go promenade with your friends or something, whatever you ladies do. Scope out single men or something, I have some affairs to take care of,” he instructed, trying not to come across as abrasive. The last thing he needed was for Niki to think he was mad at her. Really, he was just in excruciating pain but didn’t want her to fuss over him. It must have been more than a graze, Dream slowly realized. 

“You are insufferable,” Niki said with love, pressing a kiss to his forehead before leaving the room with one final statement of, “This isn’t over.”

As soon as she was gone, Dream tore off his vest, watching blood continue to soak through his white shirt. He pulled off the shirt completely, tossing it aside as he looked at the wound in the mirror. 

He chuckled lightly to himself, “This is _not_ good.” 

Reaching into one of his drawers, he pulled out a handkerchief and hissed as he pressed it against the wound. The cloth became warm as blood began to soak through it, but he figured it had to stop bleeding at some point, and until then, he would simply apply pressure. This would be fine.

A knock sounded on his door and he cursed, exclaiming, “Don’t come in, Niki!”

“I knew you were lying,” a voice that is very distinctly not Niki’s echoed through the room and Dream met George’s eyes in the reflection. 

“Get out of my house,” Dream seethed, folding the handkerchief over to a dry side before pressing it against the wound once more. “You didn’t kill me, that’s all that matters. I’m just surprised you actually managed to make contact.”

“You’re an idiot,” the man groaned, stepping fully into the room and grabbing the ruined handkerchief out of Dream’s hand. “You need to clean it at least a little bit. Got any whiskey?”

Dream groaned, using his bloody hand to point to the table that held his favorite liquor, “Over there. Why are you playing doctor all of a sudden?”

“It’s no fun if you die of infection, I’d rather just kill you myself,” he scoffed, grabbing the alcohol off of the table. He poured a glass and handed it to Dream, who downed it without a second thought. The blond watched with careful eyes as he poured whiskey onto a clean handkerchief and sat down in a chair beside him, rubbing the wound harshly with the cloth.

“You could work on your bedside manner, if I’m being perfectly candid,” Dream groaned, his skin around the wound stinging. All he received in response was a glare. He watched as George’s hands worked, folding the handkerchief and pressing it over the source of the wound before rifling through the drawers, likely in search of bandages.

“Hm, how did I know you would keep bandages in your room?” George mused to himself as he began to bandage him. “At least you’re self-aware, I suppose.”

Dream observed with careful eyes as George wrapped up the would, not bothering to dignify his remark with a response. The other man places a hand gently on the small of his back, pushing him forward so he can wrap the bandages around. His skin burned where George touched him. Something in the air has shifted, that much he’s noticed. 

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Dream’s voice is hardly above a whisper despite them being the only two in the room. “She flirted with me and I rejected her, I’m sure you know how much I loathe the idea of marriage. I assume she made up her story in order to have someone else deal with revenge so she wouldn’t have to. She’s a girl, hardly above marrying age, I wouldn’t do that to her. I do not mean to call her honor into question, but I am afraid she called mine first.”

George paused what he was doing, his eyes meeting Dream’s. “I know. Once I returned home, she told me the truth. That was… that was why I came here, although I’ll admit I didn’t expect to find you bleeding out in your room.”

“Asshole,” Dream muttered, but there was no heat for it. “I tried to tell you, but I suppose I’d believe my flesh and blood over me any day. However, I assume it probably brought you great joy to shoot me anyway, honorable or not.”

“That it did,” the dark-haired man replied, wrapping the bandages thick until no more blood seeped through the new layers. “However I’d have preferred to have shot you in the face so that I did not have to look at you anymore.”

“You look at me?”

“Often,” George admitted, leaning back in his chair as he finished dressing the wound. Surprisingly, Dream found himself missing the warmth. He grabbed the empty glass off the vanity, pouring a new one and handing it to George. 

Dream scoffed, ignoring the way the confession made him feel, “Why is it, dear George, that you hold me in such low regard?”

“Oh, I do not,” the man shrugged, taking a sip of the drink, “It is that I hold you so highly that is why I despise you.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”

“Why is it that you have sworn never to marry, Clay?” George changed the subject with a small, delectable smile on his face, eyes swimming in his whiskey instead of looking at Dream. “Perhaps, is it that you crave the same sins of the flesh as I do? Flesh not of those we are meant to marry, is it?” 

It is then that Dream pieces everything together. The distant stares, the constant scowl, looking away every time Dream has attempted to meet his eyes, the dressing of the wound. He smiled, shooting a curious look in George’s direction, “You do not hate me at all. In fact, it is quite the opposite.”

George holds up the half-empty glass in a toast, “That it is. If you don’t mind, I’m afraid I must go, now that the air between us has been cleared, of course, and both of our reputations remain intact.” 

“One last thing,” Dream reached out and let his fingers graze George’s arm before he could leave, wrapping around the limb with a light grip, giving him an out if he wished to take it. “If you wouldn’t mind closing the door, please.” 

The man looked at him oddly but reached out to shut the door regardless. Once it was closed, Dream forced himself to stand, despite his weakness. He was taller than George by a decent amount, looking down at him as the air hung heavy between the two men. 

“Clay…” George drifted off and he did not miss the way the man’s eyes darted to his lips before back at his eyes. He took a step closer.

“Tell me no,” Dream whispered, taking another step. George stepped back as well, his back pushed up against the door. 

“I can’t.”

“Can not or will not?” 

“I do not wish to.” George’s voice was quiet as if the words were scared to leave his lips, but they hung in the space between them, pulling Dream closer. 

They shared the air between them now, Dream asking, “Is that a yes?”

Before George could even finish his nod, their lips were pressed against each other. It was desperate and Dream was fairly sure his hands shook, but he steadied them by grabbing onto George’s waist, pulling him infinitely closer. The man’s hands tugged on his hair, pale fingers entangling with dark blond hair, gripping him tightly as if he never wanted to let go. It was years of tension finally being released; years of sneers and rude comments, years of biting quips and baseless threats, all coming to fruition at this moment. His hands grew desperate as he searched for any way to bring himself closer to George, relishing in the way the man’s hands shifted from his hair to running down his bare back, the sensation of skin on skin soon becoming too much to handle. Frantically, he unbuttoned George’s vest and untucked his shirt, giving him the freedom to run his hands up his skin beneath the fabric, warmth seeping through his fingertips. He wanted nothing more than to rid George of the garments completely, but he was not going to be the one to make that move.

He disconnected their lips in favor of his mouth trailing down George’s neck, leaving a plethora of red marks in his wake. The older pushed him away for just a moment, shrugging off his coat and vest, letting it fall to the floor while his shaking hands untied his shirt. Dream reached forward to pull it off of him, wincing as the raising of his arms tugged at his wound. 

“Idiot,” George muttered, hands tracing the bandages he had placed there moments ago. A silence hung between them during the act, “We shouldn’t be doing this. I should leave.”

Dream took a step back, once again giving him that out, “If that is how you feel, then you are welcome to.” 

The other’s eyes darted to the closed door, then back at Dream. Slowly, he reached out and placed a hand squarely on Dream’s chest, pushing him back as they fell into step with each other until the backs of the blond’s legs hit the side of his bed. Dream fell back, gazing up at George with a small, promising smile, teeth catching his bottom lip as the man stared down at him. 

“I said I should,” George finally spoke, “not that I wanted to.”

Dream reached up, his hand cupping George’s neck and the back of his head, pulling him down until their lips met once more. George followed him down onto the bed as their lips stayed connected, one leg balancing himself between Dream’s spread legs and a hand next to his face where Dream laid back on the pillow. Dream couldn’t get enough of him, pulling him down onto him completely before adjusting their positioning so that he was above George instead.

“Tell me to stop,” Dream whispered once more, a promise laced in his kiss. 

_“Never.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Hi... I got this idea from a tiktok where the girl talked about hiding a stab wound and then making eye contact with her snarky enemy in the mirror while dressing the wound and I couldn't stop thinking about it until I wrote it so here it is, 3000 words of Victorian Era, enemies to lovers goodness, I hope you enjoyed. 
> 
> also, follow me on twitter @nicowritess


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